Father Fauchelevent
by crazyanaylst
Summary: I do not own Les Miserables in any manner and make no profit from this story. A short story about Father Fauchelevent and Monsieur la Maire


Father Fauchelevent

I, Louis Fauchelevent hated Monsieur Madeleine. He was nothing but a peasant pretending to be bourgeoisie. An upstart if I had ever met one.

Who was he to stride into my town and open a factory? It was not fair!

I had lived in Montreuil-sur-Mer my entire life. I had moved there with my parents as a bébé, I married my beloved Antoinette here and made a good life until this Jean Madeleine had come.

In my younger days I had even had a brief time when I was well enough off to keep a grisette on the edge of the village. She had been a jolie jeune ami with hair of gold and eyes as blue as the summer sky.

My wife had known about her but, pfft, men have their needs and my wife had understood this. Oddly enough I had gone to her rooms one day to be told by the portress that she was gone and that no one could tell me where.

Eh, after my son was born my wife had become more plainspoken in her views and so it was convenient for me to not have a jolie ami in the village.

Within a year of Madeleine's arrival my only son, Henri, had fallen while hunting, hit his head on a rock and died; and my wife had died of an apoplexy from Henri's death. Now I was alone with no one to comfort me or share my old age.

Madeleine was here with his factory and his so called charitable ways I couldn't even make a living as a notary or a lawyer. Monsieur Madeleine had set up his own lawyer notary for his workers and if it was to be believed he allowed them to avail themselves of the services without charge. How was a man to make a living with this going on?

It had added insult to injury that after only five years of being in the town the town elders had asked Monsieur Madeleine to accept the appointment from the King to become Monsieur la Maire. I had been there my whole life, worked hard, been a pillar of the community, in my own small way, and now they asked this upstart, from who knows where, to accept being le maire? Oh granted at first he declined the office and I foolishly that that would be the end of it and someone more fitting would be appointed by the King, but no! Again the King wanted to appoint Monsieur Madeleine to the office and now because of some old peasant in the town he bowed to pressure and accepted the post. Bah, bowed to pressure, nonsense!

It was unthinkable, unheard of, insulting. It was then that I truly started to hate Jean Madeleine. Suddenly Monsieur la Maire had started an infirmary, and then a school. What next I thought, will he take over being his own police force? It was with this thought that I had a brilliant idea.

Monsieur la Maire had no idea how much I hated him and his pious ways. When my son and wife had died he had been there full of condolences, asking if there was any thing he could do to help. Pfft, help, as if I would take anything from that rustre!

Regardless, I would talk to Monsieur la Maire about asking the King to appoint a police inspecteur to our small burgeoning town. What better thing to bring our town prestige? After all Monsieur la Maire had the ear of the King so certainly his majesty would be happy to grant this small favor to him.

Granted we already had a couple of gardiens de la paix but, they were simple lads not well trained. They had gone to the next town over that was slightly larger than ours and trained for a few days and yes we had a prefect, what town did not? But, what small town like ours had their own inspecteur?

But, I thought if we could have our own inspecteur, then perhaps he would be curious as to why our maire had seemed to appear from now where a mere handful of years ago and perhaps this would solve many problems.

In the past few years I had been reduced to being a carter to make ends meet. My clothes were shabby, my horse, Minuit, was old, and my cart was always ready to break down. The only blessing these days was that my dear departed Antoinette was not here to see how low I had been brought down.

Monsieur Madeleine had been le maire for a year when the good inspecteur Javert arrived in our town. He was a severe, righteous man that after a few weeks even the honest people of the town knew to avoid except in the case of an emergency. He did his job very well but he did not allow him self to join the community so much as observe the community.

He had interacted with Monsieur la Maire for a few months when his manner seemed to take a twist. Previously he had always treated le maire with great deference but, lately beneath the deference there seemed to be a hint of discourtesy, always subtle and silent but there none the less.

It had been a bad day. It had rained all night, the ground was soaked and the streets were deep in mud. My poor horse struggled to pull the cart. I crept off the cart and tried to force the nag to pull harder. Unfortunately for me, Minuit had stepped unnoticed into a hole made by a missing cobble stone. When I pulled on his halter a young man that I had offered a few sous to, helped push the back of the cart. Poor Minuit tried to obey but all that we managed to do way cause him to stumble forward breaking his front legs and forcing the cart onto my chest as I fell beneath his poor broken body.

In that moment I was not sure which was more startling, Minuit's shrieks of pain or mine? The pain was unbearable. As if in a dream I heard a shot go off and Minuit's screams stop and all that were left were mine hanging in the air. These too were cut short as the cart continued to crush the air from my lungs.

As I lay gasping for air and crying out for someone to help me Monsieur la Maire arrived. I could hear him asking if a jack-screw was to be had and an anonymous voice called out that one had been sent for but it would take a quarter of an hour to arrive.

Again Monsieur la Maire spoke, saying that it would take too long and did no one having a stout heart and loins wishing to earn five louis d'or while helping a fellow man. Faintly I heard him ask the same question again and again each time raising the amount of money he would reward the person.

As black spots danced before my eyes and I could feel my heavily loaded cart crush me further and further into the mud. The next voice was unexpected. It was Inspecteur Javert telling le maire that it was not the will that was lacking but literal strength. He went further on to say that a man with terrible strength would be able to lift the cart and that he had known only one man like that years ago, a galley slave, at Toulon that had been freed but, that had broken his parole.

By now they had forgotten me, so focused were they on the quiet confrontation between each other. Javert was practically accusing Monsieur la Maire of being this person and Monsieur Madeleine growing so pale that even as my sight dimmed I could see his lack of color.

As I lay dying I realized that I was unable to make a last confession and as an act of penance and contrition I banished from my heart the anger and hate I had harbored for Jean Madeleine. I promised that if, somehow I was allowed to live no matter how broken my body I would do an unselfish deed for Monsieur la Maire if God allowed. Suddenly the cart shifted and thrust me even further into the mud. Involuntarily I cried out, "I am strangling! My ribs are breaking! A screw! Something! Mercy!"

I don't remember much of the next few minutes. I was told by bystanders that Monsieur la Maire had given the good inspecteur a small sad smile and then had proceeded to crawl under the cart through the mud.

Suddenly it was if the gates of heaven had opened, I was able to draw a breath. The blackness receding from my sight I realized that Monsieur la Maire was under the cart straining on his hands and knees and, as if strengthened by God, was raising the cart on his back. Now bystanders were calling out to le maire, come out, you will be crushed. Even I managed to groan out, "Monsieur la Maire, I am fated to die. Do not get crushed yourself. Leave me!"

Instead of taking the wise advice offered by one and all he simply strained his muscles again and with one great final effort the cart quivered and began to rise. With this Monsieur la Maire finally called out for help and the townsmen laid hands on the cart and helped to pull it off both him and me.

He was covered in mud and his fine clothes were torn. His face and head were covered in perspiration with his face still pale as linen. A pair of sturdy young men helped me to my knees only for me to find that one of my knees was, if possible, in worse pain than my ribs, but even so I threw myself against Monsieur la Maire's knees, wept and exclaimed that he was from the good God.

As Father Madeleine patiently waited through my exclamations I recognized a look of indescribable happiness and celestial suffering on his countenance. Then with a tranquil look he stared at Inspecteur Javert while giving instructions to the men at my sides to gently carry me to the infirmary served by the sisters of charity.

The next morning I found on the night stand next to my bed in the infirmary a thousand-franc note and a written missive in Father Madeleine's own hand stating that he had bought my horse and cart, my poor Minuit that was dead and my broken down cart.

I did not see Father Madeleine again for a few weeks while I healed. My knee was permanently stiff though my ribs had healed and for me this was enough. I did not know how I was going to make a living but since God seemed to have his hand on my life since that day I was willing to rest in his care for the time being. For years I had watched Father Madeleine try to live a saintly life centered on God and his ways, and now it was my turn to do the same.

On the day I was to be released Father Madeleine came to my bedside. In his hand was a letter addressed to me from the Mother Superior of Convent of the Petit-Picpus. It seems that while I was recuperating Father Madeleine, the sisters of charity and our local priest and seen fit to write letters of recommendation on my behalf and I was to have a position as the gardener at this convent in Paris. It came with a cottage on the grounds and of course a stipend for expenses. All my problems seemed to have been solved with I rested. Again I marveled at how wrong I had been about Father Madeleine before and how graciously he had never noticed my jealousy.


End file.
